A Big Joke
by mother moon
Summary: Had no idea whatsoever to call this, but basically Belial finds something about her Lord very amusing
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Angel Sanctuary? It's not mine**

**A/N: I havent actually read this bit of Angel Sanctuary - where Lucifer visits Alexiel - so I'm sort of second guessing these invents. I'm a little stuck on the ending at the moment...so I thought I'll just post the first few bits for now. Do you even care? Is this all a bit irrelevant?**

The peals of laughter rose. Up through air like a substance of a lighter quality; climbing the broken turrets and over the crumbling towers of hell. It echoed down the long and drafty halls and reverberated through the icy stones. It ran deep and pure in its mirth and seemed to hum, pulsate and entrench its clangour within the solid rocky edifices…

And Belial collapsed in a heap.

"Stop that!" Lucifers tone; often so cold, so indifferent…so _aloof_, was edged with a bite of anger but the command went ignored.


	2. Chapter 2

Lord Lucifer –King of Hell – and his Seven Satans (Asmodeus, Belial, Barbelo, Astaroth, Mammon, Beelzebub and Leviathan) gathered annually. His majesty's Throne Room was such a contrast to the rest of hell which seemed to bake every living soul, foolish enough to endeavour in traipsing across its barren soil, to a crisp. It was in this rooms ice cold; a magnet for shadows and echoes of forgotten screams, round a long and dark mahogany oak, that they met.

Yes: it was all very much to Lord Lucifers taste. Grand and dark. Full of sweeping shadows and murky lights that only highlighted partial features leading everything to be of a more enigmatic and sinister nature, but with the kind of grandeur only a king could achieve.

The meeting had progressed with its typical smoothness. Information was exchanged, tasks dictated to them by their liege - which would be carried out, which_ must_ be carried out. On. Pain. Of. Death (or as Beelzebub would always point out: on pain of very _painful_ death and which Asmodeus would always then very cruelly point out that a demon who concerned themselves with the spoils of war and food was never guaranteed to be funny and almost certainly destined to remain dimwitted). Several arguments broke out and several plots of murder were unearthed, nearly all of which somehow were connected to Asmodeus, whose attention and patience swiftly had begun to wane. He contented himself to while away the hours by watching Belial scribe. She alone had not said a word throughout the meeting, as was the way with most of their meetings. Holding her forked tongue tight between spiked teeth whilst her Lord was present so as not to arouse his displeasure. Her face, covered with the clownish make up she carefully applied each morn, set within the deep, calm of concentration – her brow mildly furrowed as she attempted to distinguish and separate each fact, statement and lie that the mingle of voices bellowed out to each other from across the table. Belial has magnificent hands. Pale with long, thin fingers. Delicate, smooth and deadly topped with an inch of red, carefully manicured shiny nail and Asmodeus cant help _but_ admire how she manages to scribe without soiling her fingers with ink.

If he can so prevent it, Asmodeus' never scribes. Those few times he has attempted, the ink has spilt slyly from the quills nip covering his fingers before he has a chance to notice. The really annoying thing about scribing is that ink in particular has the ability to get everywhere. A guaranteed tingle beneath the skin, almost always upon the face, will erupt. Ever persistent, ever nagging and begging to be granted some form of release until resistance is no longer an option….but of course a satisfied itch ensures the safe transference of ink to other parts of the body. The very worst thing about ink is that it stains, remaining embedded on to your skin and ground deep into fingernails until an opportune for vigorous scrubbing arises.

It was as Asmodeus was admiring Belial ability to remain composed and entirely ink free, it was then that Hells most loyal servant raised the question.

"Satisfy this foolish clowns curiosity my lord: how goeth your ventures in heaven"

All of sudden it's very, very still. Almost like a carefully secreted switch has been flipped the voices have stopped. Even Astaroth, whom has been gazing idly around the room and never paid Belial the slightest amount of attention if he could so help himself, alters his focus. Staring hungrily down the long table at the Lord and his scribe. Only the steady scratching of Belial's quill can be heard. There's that painful silence of held, expectant breaths.

'She hasn't even looked up' but Asmodeus can tell she craves to. It's not that she has rearranged herself in a particular manner that suggests otherwise, nor is there a slight twitch in her eyes as though to restrain oneself from looking. It's by the slightest irregularities in the scratching sound of her writing and the air that you can't help give off when awaiting an answer 'I wonder though,' he ponders 'I wonder why she asked? Did she realise it would trouble him so?'

Lucifer had indeed gone into deep and dark thought.


	3. Chapter 3

He had made the simple error of enlightening the satanic generals of his intentions on what would surely be the cruellest trick on God. That being the rape of God's favourite and purest angel: Alexiel.

Lady Alexiel.

Such was the virtue, the serenity , the all out holiness of this angel God had ordered that she be tucked away, in the higher levels of heaven deep within the Garden of Eden so that she may continue within this existence of purity. Untouched. Undisturbed. Unspoiled by man and the evils within him which are eagerly aroused by glorious form.

It came to Lucifer that it would be amusing to amend this, and remove Lady Alexiel from such a high status within her Fathers eye, simultaneously destroying any set path God had laid for her. This would be done by the simple elimination of the one concept that kept her pure.

Lucifer almost laughed aloud in his ecstasy as the image of Fathers face slid into his mind. God would cry – mourning the loss of the perfection he strove so desperately to achieve and with his own hands, perhaps, even kill this image of flawlessness out of disgust. God's anguish: Lucifer would reap in it – he was almost propelled to a state of happiness.

Breaking into Heaven had been tediously effortless, it was not long before he was face to face with the lady herself. The angels skin was smooth, pale, almost luminous in the white light of the moon. It was soft too, beneath the tips of his fingers which gripped her arms (strangely muscular though for a woman). Rivers of firery, auburn tendrils of hair flowed the length of her naked body as emotionless, blue eye stared up at him from a face of perfection.

Lucifer's hands gripped her even tighter. Now was the time. Now he could truly unleash his revenge on God.

He could hear their heartbeats.

_Do it._

_Ruin her_.

But for the longest time he could only stare back. Those eyes…..those heartless eyes…..

They captured him. Froze his soul. Swallowed any thought of his. Pulled him deeper and deeper into their blue until he was drowning – entrenched within their cold. He saw himself within them. The more he stared the more Lucifer felt himself getting lost…Eden felt so far away – adrift as he was on its own little world. In another place of a different time, a creek bubbled and wind rustled leaves, disturbing long green stalks of grass and sighing between the aged and knarled branches of a tree, which twisted upwards into the reaches above. It was a tree that as soon as you were to glance at it, the thought that it ought not to be still standing, politely popped itself into your head. On its old, fragile branches an abundance of succulent fruit of gargantuan proportions hung heavy, swaying, threatening to crash down upon those gazing up from bellow. In that far away world of Eden, a bird sang. In a high sweet voice it twittered in manner of utter joy as it attacked the fruit, its sharp beak tearing away at the skin so as to acquire its juicy flesh.

Forbidden flesh.

The bird wasn't going to live much longer now. That fruit was damned, cursing the consumer often with a slow and maddening death. On such a tiny body, however, the poison quickly began to take its toll and what had previously been a melanchonic melody altered into a high cry of distress as it spread. The birds eyes bulged in its head, in danger of bursting, as it began to flutter frantically in anguish around the little garden – but there is no escape from the paradise of Eden.

The rush of wings disturbed the epoch Lucifer was caught in, breaking the momentary trance that Alexiels eyes had held him under. She twisted her head away. Her gaze following the small, frantic birds movement. Feathers plucked themselves from its little body, fluttering with an upwards thrust as the wind from those fast moving wings caught underneath them, before drifting lazily down again to the soil below. Lucifer kept his gaze fixed on Alexiels face as they were caught in a shower of feathers. It was the poison that caused the bids malting. He wondered if she realised that it was Gods cruelty, their Fathers very own unique brand of spite, that was the root of the creatures torment?

Upon entering the luscious Garden of Eden there was no exit until the angel charged with your imprisonment ordered your release (in Alexiels case God, and Lucifer…well….nothing could keep a satan trapped for long). The water was poison. The food was poison. You either had necessities brought to you, or you simply died.

The bird and feathers dropped in height. Like a soft rain. Lower and lower until…

Alexiel moved so fast that the tight grip she was ensnared within was relinquished, as she swung up a large and heavy sword and brought it swiftly down upon the poor beings now rather bedraggled bulk. That very sword had moments before hung loose and harmless by her side. She held it in a delicate grip with her small effeminate hands. It had looked foreign and unfamiliar next to the cared for body of a lady. Now the blade glinted with a menace as it returned smoothly back to her side. Stained with blood, but once again upholding the appearance of utter innocence.

It could have been her displaying an act of cruelty….

It could have been her succeeding in a display of kindness….

It was difficult to say.

Lucifer stared into those eyes and wondered…..


	4. preview

Lucifer could suddenly hear just how painfully stretched the silence had become. His Satans gazes had become so intense that they almost burnt the chill in the very air. Demons were never loyal by nature. They were deceptive, sly and despicable creatures – these former great angels who were dubbed _the very dregs of heaven_. Through a mixture of seduction, bullying and bribery Lucifer had bound them to _his_ will. _His_ take on **the** **word**. _His_ corruption of paths set. They were devoted to him– to a degree. Demons were never truly loyal and their gluttonous souls would need the occasional incentive to not stray too far from his side. If he wanted to avoid discontent within the ranks – particularly with Asmodeus' stirring – he was going to have to tell them.

The scratching of the quill finally came to a pause and Lucifer became aware that Belials eyes had risen up from her scribing to fix her lord with the same gaze as her fellow Satans.

Belial's eyes were blue also. But they did not hold the deep, dark solemness of Alexiels which were like cold pools of truth. They were electric and mad – they fixated him in another respect. Thin red veins were prominent at the mildly yellowing corners – telling a promising tale of drugs which had clearly liberated a fallen angels mind to the very brink of madness. Alexiels read you - Belials pierced like the sharp of an arrows point. The look was too knowing. Upon his arrival back from heaven Belial had pestered him for knowledge of his progress.

At the left corner of her white mouth, in the tiniest of creases, a smile was locked, one which Lucifer wish to strike from her face.


End file.
